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Updated: May 7, 2025
And say, did it ever strike you that some of the things we blame on God are really up to us? He's handed over His power for us to do things, and we haven't seen it that way; so the things go undone and God is charged with the consequences." "I wish I could believe that!" said Wittemore. "You can! When you really want to, enough, you will! Come on, let's get that prayer down to the old lady!
Courtland looked up the train, 'phoned for a taxi, went around the room gathering up what he thought would be necessities for the journey, while Wittemore was inadequately trying to get himself dressed. Suddenly Wittemore stopped short in the midst of his ineffective efforts and drew something out of his pocket with an exclamation of dismay. "I forgot about this medicine!" he gasped.
He spoke apologetically, as of a dear one who had lacked advantages. "But I do believe in prayer!" said Courtland, earnestly. "What you heard me say in class was before I understood." "Before you understood?" Wittemore looked puzzled. "Listen, Wittemore. Things are all different now. I've met Jesus Christ and I've got my eyes open.
His face was long, his nose and chin were painfully long, and were accompanied by a sensitive mouth that was always on the quiver with apprehension, like a rabbit's, and little light eyes with whitish eyelashes. His hair was like licked hay. There was absolutely nothing attractive about Wittemore except his smile, and he so seldom smiled that few of the boys had ever seen it.
Now he thrust a handful of bills into Wittemore's astonished hands. "There's fifty! Will that see you through? And I can send you more if you need it. Just wire me how much you want." Wittemore stood looking down at the bills, and tears began to run down his cheeks and splash upon them. Courtland felt his own eyes filling. What a pitiful, lonely life this had been!
It was a revelation to them. They listened with respect for the student who had gone to his mother's dying bed. They had all been long enough away from their own mothers to have come to feel the worth of a mother quite touchingly. Moreover, they perceived that Courtland had seen more in Wittemore than they had ever seen.
Courtland hated to take it, but saw that it would hurt him to refuse it; so he had fallen into a habit of stopping now and then to talk about his settlement work, just to show a little friendly interest in him. Wittemore had responded with a quiet wistfulness and a patient hovering in the background that touched the other man's heart deeply.
I was blind before, but since I've felt the Presence everything has been different." And then he told the story of his experience. He did not make a long story of it. He gave brief facts, and when it was finished Wittemore dropped his face into his hands and groaned: "I'd give anything if I could believe all that again," came from between his long bony fingers.
Should he go to church again and search for the Presence, or make up his mind that the churches were out of it entirely and that it was only in places of need and sorrow and suffering that He came? Still, that was not fair to the churches, perhaps, to judge all by one. What an experience the night had been! Did Wittemore, majoring in philanthropy, ever spend nights like this?
Had he ever felt the Presence? he wondered. He would like to ask him, but then how would one go about it to talk of a thing like that? He threw himself into his studies again when he got back to the university, but in spite of himself his mind kept wandering back to strange questions. He wished Wittemore would come back and say his mother was better!
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